Her majesty, Lady Duckie

OK, maybe that’s a little dramatic. She hasn’t (yet) awaken me in the middle of the night to the dangers of a house fire or a gas leak. And she’s never alerted me to an undiscovered ailment (something I fully expect one of our three dogs to do, if necessary).

But Lady Duckie — a four-pound Chihuahua mix — has nonetheless served a pivotal role. Just over a year ago, she helped fill the hole left after the tragic, terrible death of Chico, a jet-black chihuahua who bonded with me harder and faster than any animal I’ve ever been around.

Chico, we miss you.

We found Chico roaming the streets near my parents’ house, a chewed bit of rope tied around his neck. My partner, Scott, opened the car door, Chico walked up, and that was it. He was mine.

He followed me nonstop around our house for six months and was, in a word, love.

Chico is gone after a painful battle with heartworms that included a 2 a.m. drive to College Station for emergency surgery. It was the darkest, longest road trip I’ve ever taken. I will forever be grateful to the staff at Texas A&M University Veterinary Medical Teaching Hospital, who tried valiantly to save Chico’s life.

I remember Chico almost every day. It still hurts my heart to think about him.

Lady Duckie has been a savior. We got her from a friend whose hectic schedule made it impossible to take care of a puppy. I could say the same. But I also couldn’t resist. I was struck by her creamy color, long legs (for a four-pound dog), soft expression and inquisitive eyes, which always seem to be asking, “Who, moi?”

Yes, she speaks some French. But — at least in my mind — she mostly speaks English. She mostly speaks with her eyes. And her brow. She furrows it intensely when she’s angry, which mostly happens when I pull her tail, pretend to take her food or cuddle her when she isn’t feeling lovable.

But she was instantly friendly, a trait that has stayed with her to this day. Lady Duckie loves plumbers, mailmen, neighbors, other dogs, Starbucks baristas, nieces, random homeless folk and pretty much anyone she meets. She’s unfailingly sweet, and everyone — everyone — who meets her wants to dogsit or steal her. (Stay away, Sara Cress!)

And despite my worries, she gets along pretty grandly with our two other dogs, Tangi (pronounced like “Tan-gee”), a toy fox terrier, and Brickman, a wire hair/Corgi mix. Both are nine years old and long-set in their ways.

BFFs: Lady Duckie and Tangi.

I was concerned that Tangi wouldn’t want to share diva duties with another female. She usually doesn’t take kindly to them. Ijn fact, she pretty much hates any girl dog she sees.

And Tangi is the house boss. She barks at strangers and almost always seems to be on the defensive. Except around me, of course. Unless I poke at her back legs. Then, teeth are bared.

But Tangi and Lady Duckie have actually become pretty good galpals. There’s the ocassional tug over a toy, but nothing too serious. They even share a pillow from time to time and engage in friendly fights throughout the day. It’s pretty funny to watch.

Brickman surveys the scene from his — yes, his — leather couch.

Brickman is the complete opposite of Tangi. He’s like a little old man, his eyes always darting fearfully around the room. He’s gentle, submissive and scared of almost anything. Rattling a plastic bag can send him into a serious tailspin.

I often catch him staring off into space. And he is the nosiest dog I’ve ever seen. He’ll watch, with steely intensity, someone down the street take groceries out of their car.

But Brickman is sweetness, through and through. I’ve never known him to be aggressive — unless another dog tries to take his food. His days are spent laying around the house, chewing on his tail and waltzing across the floor with me, when the mood strikes. Really — he likes to dance. (Video coming soon, if you’d like.)

I constantly worry someone is going to scoop Lady Duckie up and steal her. I even glare suspiciously at random folks on bikes who whizz by while we’re taking a walk. Seriously.

We’ll talk later about the fact that she’s probably been on a leash a total of two times in her life. I just can’t. She’s too cute for a leash.

Lady Duckie also has the biggest affinity for toys I’ve ever seen in a dog. I’m talking a major jones, people. She still plays with plastic keys I bought her a year ago. They’re as big as her entire 4-pound frame, but she trots them around the house, hiding them under the bed, in her kennel, behind chairs. Sometimes, she drags them down the stairs, which makes such a loud nouse that I swear someone is breaking in the house.

Lady Duckie strikes a figure-flattering pose.

After adopting, we immediately changed her name, which had been Bailey for about two weeks. (An inappropriate, alcoholic nod to her color.) She didn’t seem to mind.

Don’t ask me where the name Lady Duckie came from. Save that question for co-owner Scott. And breathe a sigh of relief that we didn’t go with his first choice, Lady Bunchen. (Seriously, I have no idea.)

And no, she doesn’t answer to just Lady or just Duckie or — thank goodness — LD. She doesn’t do nicknames. You must address her by her full title, thank you very much.

Because of past pet experience, I worry about her. She’s had, and still has, some liver issues. And she has an odd head shake that looks a bit like epilepsy or old age. Sort of a Katharine Hepburn thing. It’s disturbing to see and happens a few times a day, though it’s gotten better as of late. The vet chalks it up to either her liver problem or a simple behavioral tic. We’ll see.

The worry translates into incessant spoiling on my part. But how could you not? She’s gorgeous.

She takes too long to poop. Has (oh-so-tiny!) accidents in the house. Enjoys hiding socks under the bed. And loves to chew on pens and duct tape, so much so that she closes her eyes while doing it. A little bit of doggy ecstasy, I guess.

But I can only stay mad for about 30 seconds, mostly because it’s impossible to resist her quizzical look when I’m scolding her: a slightly cocked head that seems to say, “I luuuv you.” Then there are her tiny, tiny paws tugging at my leg or cheek.

She burrows under the covers when we’re in bed, scratches my face and gets away with, oh, pretty much everything. I even, well, sort-of taught her to nip at my fingers. She gets so excited that she’s started doing it up my entire arm. When I won’t let her, she grunts and tugs — pretty hard, actually — at the bed covers.

It’s so cute! But don’t jude. She’s not a bad dog. She’s a joy, a total burst of cream-colored energy. When I work from home, she’ll often try and jump into my lap until I finally pull her up for a view of the computer screen. She’ll curl up and nap or rest her head lazily on my arm.

Three pets is a stressful thing. But I can’t imagine being without them. And Lady Duckie, after so much heartbreak, brought some of the joy back to these dog days of life.